2.10

Some time did then pass. Atropos was bored,
With no line to cut, with no aging cord.
To live in a dream, vicariously,
A budding young romance she wanted to see.

So feeling a tug of amorous play,
To sister Lachesis, Atropos did say,
"Perhaps it is time to further arouse her
By giving them now another encounter?"

Lachesis did smile at goodly suggestion
And to the textile proposed a correction.
And through a new weave, she conjured a fog
Which became a full storm which roadways did bog.

And so just like that, some plans were forbade.
And soon after that, some new plans were made:
To think of an offer and invites extend
To host the same dinner for all of their friends.

And then with a twist and glint in her eye
Put thought in the head of good Lorelai.
To order some horses with carriage for sleigh
To heighten the magic of that crucial day.

The Fate added thread to her good machine
And engineered Clara to burden poor Dean.
For Clara (his sister) did love so the horses,
She'd drag off poor Dean with all of her forces.

Lachesis sat back and marvelled her hand
As ev'ry detail went exactly as planned:
As Clara took Dean as quick as can be
And of this event did Jess surely see.

So then in the sleigh was Rory alone.
And so with her thread, a fresh twist was sewn.
And into her sled, jumped dear nimble Jess
Saying, "Two to a sleigh, no more no less!"

First Rory dismayed that he should appear.
But soon she would warm to his being near.
For, though his emergence created her startle,
She valued the ways in which he was artful.

Confessions were made about his distress
Of how callous Liz had no want of Jess.
And at that cruel thought, did Rory despair
To think of a mother who didn't quite care.

And then all at once, she saw differently,
As now in her thoughts divine sympathy.
And even the fight, that she'd learned he'd had:
When foe was revealed she thought it not bad.

And then wound their sleigh around the town square.
They took in the sights of all that was there:
A legion of snowmen, a snowwoman one,
And one on the corner, quite overdone.

The intricate sculpture they started to slam
And make fun of all of its tedious glam.
Their words, slings and arrows, perhaps a pitchfork,
Proclaiming the plight of snowwomen named Björk.

And hearing this talk, of what did transpire,
Did Clotho then love and Clotho inspire.
So into their threads a colour was placed:
The regal deep purple of musical taste.

So Jess latched upon another pursuit
To ask whether Dean, of Björk, was astute.
And, by way of this, to highlight his knowledge
And further himself between them to wedge.

Then questions of Dean 'fore long had been queried
That baffled her tongue and made her quite wearied
To think of an answer (where answer there was!)
But sharp wit grew scarce, as sometimes it does.

To add to her fluster, a zephyr ran round.
A fine lock of hair the zephyr then found.
And, with the wind's motions, elusive and fickle,
The hair, on her nose, decided to tickle.

So Rory reached up with mitten-clad hand
And pawed at her face to pull off the strand.
But such was the zephyr that Rory was trumped.
The search for the hair had riddled her stumped.

And still did she struggle to bring words to mind
But neither a word, nor hair, could she find.
And Jess watched it all with ill-contained glee
With such a cute sight to happen to see!

He saw brunette streak that ran past her nose.
So his wicked hand, from his lap, then rose
And outstretched a finger towards her pink cheek
To pull the strand down with tender technique.

Her breath became frozen and stuck in her throat
As fondness his actions did seem to connote.
His warm fingers coasted and guided hair clear
Along her cool cheek and over her ear.

She sat in the sleigh and felt the cool breeze.
But no wind could dare to her blush appease.
A fiery heat crept up to her face,
As she sat and hoped he'd witness no trace.

Then time whiled away as they pondered colour
(Mostly in silence, aware of each other.)
And almost before their trip did begin,
Their sled turned around, returned to the Inn.

For Rory the rest of the evening went well.
(While Jess thought the staging a step up from Hell.)
The Gilmores, next morning, did take an account.
Embarrassing stories they chose to recount.

As both of them thought of high jinks ensued,
Of all of the tasty and abnormal food,
(And Rory of her encounter with Jess,)
The two deemed the night a roaring success!

The Gilmores then left, to find their abode
And into a sleigh themselves they did load.
And, as they passed by, a crime scene they spied,
As, within their sleigh, they, past it, did ride.

As never before, did Rory then glow
To see, as they passed, a rubble of snow.
Recalling a talk, she guessed saboteur.
And Rory then knew, he'd done it for her.

Please review! Throw me a bone! Do people enjoy the poem format?

I've been working on this story for about three months now and I'd hate to think that it's all been a waste of time. Please let me know if you are enjoying this story or if you have any constructive criticism. Please let me know that you are out there!